


Over the River Styx

by CorpseArt



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Soldiers, Claustrophobia, Clay | Dream & Technoblade Friendship (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream Has ADHD (Video Blogging RPF), Codependency, Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Dream is confronted with a lot of uncomfortable realisations, Enemies to Friends, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Trust, Morally Ambiguous Character, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Tommy is so very tired but so very stuck, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Touch-Starved Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Touch-Starved TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Trauma, Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), Trust Issues, Welcome to: Everyone Has So Much Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:53:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29812860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorpseArt/pseuds/CorpseArt
Summary: I feel like we should name him.There’s a scuffle at the back of his mind as he rolls up, curling tight with a shiver despite the heat of the flames licking up his back.I mean, he’s like – us, but like a worse version clearly because oh man, this is just weirdness.There’s a flare of a tangle of emotions, complicated and fearful, resentful and livid with anger.I can’t believe this is what I’ve been reduced to, stuck in the mind of this- this child.He’s like your age, Tommy. Are you calling yourself a child?I mean, I am one so fucking duh. Child murderer.-Or: trauma bonding in the most unconventional of senses.
Relationships: Cara | CaptainPuffy & Tommyinnit & Clay | Dream, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Clay | Dream & TommyInnit & Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Tommyinnit & Clay | Dream, Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit
Comments: 80
Kudos: 518





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing Tommy-

_~~That’s not my name.~~ _

He jerks, losing his footing, choking as his hand slams out, nails digging into bark, obsidian beneath his palm-

Dream-

 _~~That’s not my name bitchboy-!~~ _ ~~~~

He wheezes, the world blurring around him, obsidian flaring and disappearing, air, cold, seeping down his lungs and expanding his ribs as he blinks, his left palm pressing against his -

 _~~What the fuck-~~ _ ~~~~

He shakes himself aggressively as he staggers forward, blindly seeking his way to the flash of blue, knees hitting the ground and body dropping forward and fingers shoving blindly at the mask over his face and-

He stares down at himself. At a blue and green eye sat side by side, freckles spilling down one side, a scar looping beneath the other, hair a mess of dirty blond coils, young- _too young, what the hell shut up you dickhead-_ mask a bare surface of inky blackness.

He chokes as trembling fingers finds water with a ripple that makes him jerk it back, mouth open, panting, a wild sort of panic because-

 _What the hell did you do!?_ Tommy howls.

 _What the fuck, what the fuck-_ Dream gasps in panic. _What did you do Tommy-_

His teeth clicks together and then he’s shoving his face into the water, letting coldness envelope the drowning choking of voices that doesn’t belong, fingers curling to feel dirt and grass crumble and bend beneath their grip and-

He opens his mouth, screaming, his brain a scrambling mash of mush, too much bouncing, split down the middle, jerking him in different directions and-

It quits abruptly, like a hand slammed over a mouth, the silence making him jerk back to fall down on his rump, eyes wide on the sky as he gasps for one choked breath after the other.

 _We nearly died._ A pause. _Again_.

 _What the fuck is this._

_It’s us but like – shoved together._ He blinks, dirty fingers finding and tangling in messy strands of hair with a yank. ... _I gotta say we could have looked worse. I mean. My genes are clearly to thank for this-_

 _Do you ever shut-up?_

_How are you not more freaked out about this is the better question because I’m-_

He pushes himself up on gangly legs, nearly tips right back over, and there’s a strange sort of sudden anticipation inside of him but curled all wrong, distant and yet so close as a hand instinctively pats trembling first at his neck and then down the side of his naked hip-

_Why the fuck are we nude._

He grimaces and sets his attention on the closest tree, one foot following after the other, too short and too tall, too skinny and too wide. 

_This is so weird but at least we’ve got our priorities right._

_-_

Curled up in a dark cave with a single flickering torch he huddles against the pile of leaves and grass he’d scrambled together for something softer than stony ground to sleep against, hands stretched in-front of him.

He stares at the axe in his left.

He stares at the sword in his right.

 _I mean, let’s be serious for a moment, there’s one clear choice here._

_The axe is a sophisticated weapon, Tommy._

_Yeah, for a tree maybe you dickhead._

He curls his fingers tight around the handles and looks aside and up at the moon that stares blankly back at him.

-

_This is humiliating. Please get some fucking clothes, man._

He ducks, skulking along the sides of the building, fingers brushing white stone with a strange kind of fascination before his attention is caught by the flutter of colours in the wind and-

 _Take the green-_

_I refuse! We’re already wearing that ridiculous mask of yours! Red- take the red man, it’s clearly the better colour-_

His fingers curls around pink and there’s a rattling sort of strange silence in his mind as he drags the hoodie off and tugs it roughly over his head.

He breathes out, adjusting the mask into a more comfortable position over his face

 _Great. We look like a fucking Technoblade rip-off._

_He’s literally half-piglin. Wearing pink won’t-_

_Shut up, bitchboy. It’s the sentiment! The sentiment!_

_What does that even mean!?_

He shakes his head with a grunt of annoyance as he grasps for a pair of pants and yanks them up his hips.

Stares as them slides down, something wheezing in the back of his head as he flushes and grasps for his sword to cut a piece of string.

-

 _Diamonds, diamonds, diamonds!_

_We need emeralds to trade with-_

_Suck it green boi! We’re going right for the riches here! Arm up, us! Go! Go! Go! Don’t listen to that-_

He stops, staring down at the iron pickaxe in his hand with a sense of exasperation that curls tight inside of him.

-

_I feel like we should name him._

There’s a scuffle at the back of his mind as he rolls up, curling tight with a shiver despite the heat of the flames licking up his back.

 _I mean, he’s like – us, but like a worse version clearly because oh man, this is just weirdness._ There’s a flare of a tangle of emotions, complicated and fearful, resentful and livid with anger. _I can’t believe this is what I’ve been reduced to, stuck in the mind of this- this child._

 _He’s like your age, Tommy. Are you calling yourself a child?_

_I mean, I am one so fucking duh. Child murderer._

_It was an accident! You think I’d want to be stuck here with you-!?_

_I bet you planned this!_ The anger makes him jerk, eyes fluttering open, confused eyes seeking something but finding only sudden tense silence he doesn’t understand.

 _"Go back to sleep,"_ something hushes him in a soft crooning voice. " _You’re safe, there’s nothing to fear…"_ His eyes slowly closes, burrowing his face down against the crook of his arm.

 _I can’t believe you’re manipulating us._

_It worked, didn’t it? So shut up._

There’s a moment of silence.

 _So, a name?_

_We’re not calling him Tommy or Dream._

_Well, clearly. That would be so very fucking strange._

-

He hauls himself up a tree, nimbly finding his footing and taking off from one branch to the other as the dark settles around him, scaling higher and higher until he finds a tree able to take him almost all the way to the sky.

He pushes his mask aside after dropping down, fishing for a red apple and biting down with a satisfying crunch.

 _You know, I’ve been thinking-_

_Hah. Hilarious._

_I’m serious!_ The moon is bright and he swings his legs idly, humming softly on a melody that comes as naturally to him as breathing. _Even if we get back to L’Manberg and everyone then-_ A breath. _Can he even speak? And if he can speak, how the fuck are we supposed to play this out? We just waltz up to someone and go, yeah, hi, this strange child has us stuck in his fucking head-_

He fishes for his canteen, taking a generous sip of the water, kicking his right leg up to wiggle his bare and dirty toes, head tilting in contemplation.

 _We - he – is going to sound absolutely fucking insane._ A pause. _That’s if he even can talk._

 _I’d rather not spend anymore time than necessary like this. We-_ A frustrated noise. _We could, possibly, be making it worse the longer we stay like this, Tommy._

 _Well what the hell are we supposed to do!? He looks like we had a fucking child, which is so gross, but who the hell is going to put one and one together to make two, huh? They’ll think he’s some strange relative to one of us and then there’ll be fucking nothing._

_… I hate to say it, but you have a point._

_So, detour?_

A sigh.

 _Detour it is._

_Whoop-the-fucking-doo._

_-_

_That’s a shit name and you know it, Dream._

_You got a better suggestion?_

_Yeah, something normal for one!_

_There’s nothing normal about this, Tommy! Not a single ounce of normal-_

_We’re setting him up for failure! I feel, I don’t know man, but I feel fucking responsible, you know? I’m setting my foot down._

_Oh you’re setting your foot down, are you? Then give me something better, Tommy. Give me something better than-_

-

Styx contemplates the strip of leather with a niggling sense of exasperation and smugness alike oozing down his back, humming idly as he worked.

 _I can’t believe you._

_It’s fitting._

_Techno is going to laugh in our fucking faces the bastard. He’ll take one look at this unfortunate mythology-named-child and just laugh and we’ll get no help because he’ll be busy dying over the ridiculous name you’ve bestowed upon him._

_You’re being dramatic._

_Oh shut your fucking mouth before I make you I swear to fucking-_

Styx straps the leather around his arm and there’s a strange and sudden silence that makes him look up and around him, anxiousness creeping through him but there’s no visible danger and he slowly focuses back at the task at hand.

Something thrums happily through him. It’s familiar, it’s good, it’s-

 _I hate you._

_At least he has a sense of style._

-

Styx is really getting the hang of mining, torches lining the walls as he delves deeper, feet quiet against the cold ground as he peers over the edge, balancing precariously for a moment before he twists the axe in his hand and drops down, burying it deep-

_Hell yeah, man! Fucking go!_

The skull breaks, collapsing with a rattle of bones and a spilling of items that nimble fingers quickly sorts through, anything deemed important disappearing into his inventory.

He pauses, head turning-

_"RUN!"_

He twists, feet slapping against the ground as he careens around the corner- dropping down the stairscase he’d made and slinging himself into the dark corridor with a hiss of scuttling feet behind him.

_There’s a fucking spawner- there’s a fucking spawner, fuckfuckfuckfuck-_

_"LEFT!"_

He balks, jerking back and there’s a hiss of frustration, heart pounding in his chest, a choked whine leaving him and-

_"It’s okay, it’s okay- just step back and then continue onwards, you can still make it-"_

_It’ll be quicker-_

_Shut up, Dream._

_Tommy-_

_I said SHUT UP_

Styx stumbles, the darkness tight and coiling in front of him, eyes finding a flicker of light and a torch in a distant and something urges him towards it and so he runs.

-

 _What was that?_

There’s a mumble, Styx shivering as he curls tighter upon himself, toes close enough to the fire there’s blisters forming on his feet.

 _Tommy-_

_I’m fucking claustrophobic, OKAY? And somehow- somehow he must have gotten that too because I felt it and I-_

There’s a choked noise, a mixture of feelings, fear and coiling mortification-

 _... Is it because-_

_What do you think?_ Exhaustion makes Styx’s eyes flag but he jerks, nails digging into his calves-

 _"It’s okay,"_ something soothes almost grudgingly against his frail senses. " _You’re free. There’s nothing keeping you trapped."_

Styx looks at the world, wide and green around him, trees dark oaken wood where they spread out into the wilderness and slowly pulls his feet away from the fire to a lick of relief as he lets himself sprawl out on his back.

He falls asleep to a lull of twisted triumph and regret alike, his mind otherwise silent.

-

Styx scrubs at his hands, humming idly as he worked the blood away from beneath his fingernails with a handful of sand.

He washes it off and ducks his head down beneath the surface of the water, giving his head a rough shake before straightening with a breath that fills his lungs, a shiver running down his back as cold air brushes over bare skin.

Styx inspects the strange patches of pink on his skin, like old scars, but he doesn’t-

He jerks, feet slipping and-

_Shit, that was mine wasn’t it?_

He trembles, nose flaring, smelling-

_Does Withers even have a scent? I mean, other than gunpowder and like… cold._

_Cold?_

_Yeah, I mean they’re-_ A frustrated huff. _You know what, screw this. You can deal with this. You did the damage, you take care of the child. Make sure he doesn’t drown or whatever._

 _Suppose he has a point._ Styx hesitantly dips his head back into the water, giving his head a rough shake, carding through the strands of his hair and working a stubborn knot away from one of the longer tangles. _Don’t tell him I said that though. And don’t drown, that would be a stupid death._ A pause. _A stupider death, I guess._

Styx stares down at his reflection, at green and blue set in an off-kilter face, wet dark strands plastered against his forehead.

 _I guess you do look a lot like me like this. Not that- anyone would know. I think the only one who knows what I look like is… Technoblade. Because of that stupid duel._ There’s a silent pause as Styx wades out of the river and reaches for his black skin-tight shirt before shrugging into his pink hoodie. _I almost won but I suppose I have to give credit where credit is due. He beat me fair and square._

Styx reaches for his mask, halting, staring at the black surface with a contemplative tilt of his head and a niggling sense of _creativity._

_Oh, wait. Wait, are you-?_

His knife digs into the black paint, red bleeding in its place as he carves a smile into the wood.

There’s a strange sense of wonder in his chest as he slots it over his face.

-

_What. The fuck._

_Hey, he did it all on his own!_

_I don’t believe you for once fucking second. I leave you with him for two minutes and you- you’re fucking infecting him! You’re making him more like you and I refuse, I refuse, I refuse-_

_Tommy-_

_SHUT UP! SHUT UP!I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU-_

Styx’s finger nails tears into wood with anguish, carving a path of clawed ruin over black paint and a stark red smile-

Something frantic wires through him and he jerks, scrambling back, a broken noise escaping his lips as he tucks his hands beneath his armpits and coils tight upon himself, trembling with a hiccupped noise.

Something quiet settles in his chest, a huff of tired regret following.

_"I’m sorry."_

“Sorry,” Styx hiccups into his knees. “Sorry, sorry, sorry-“

-

_We’re gonna leave him with so many issues, man._

_Are you saying we’re bad parents, Tommy?_

_… Please never utter that sentence again. I think I’m gonna vomit._

_Hey, look on the bright side! At least we know he can talk._

_He’s been muttering sorry for two hours, Dream. I don’t think I’m gonna count this one as a bright-anything. We broke the child._

A pause, a resigned sigh.

_Just- fucking do your thing. He responds better to you when he’s like- all that._

Bitterness, a sense of longing, something foul clawing for his attention before it’s smoothed out with a ghostly brush of a hand over his head.

_"Go to sleep, Styx."_

“Sorry.”

_"You did nothing wrong."_

“Sorry.”

_"Sssh, just go to sleep, everything is gonna be okay."_

-

Styx makes a wide circle around the village in the distance, fingers drumming against the handle of his axe, eyes darting suspiciously.

_The hell, man, he’s going in the wrong direction! Turn back you idiot, we need to trade! We need fucking shoes!_

_Ah._ There’s a sense of sudden recognition, Styx’s bare feet carrying him further and further away. _That’s my fault I think._

_Your fault?_

_-_

_It worked._

Styx shoves his feet into his new leather boots, tying them tight after tucking the hems of his pants down.

_Dream? You can come back now. Mission accomplished and all that._

_Right._

_What was that about anyway?_

_Nothing._

There’s a sceptical noise, Styx waving a spastic goodbye before hurrying his way out of the village, shoulders drawn tight and fingers brushing reassuringly over the mask-

-

_I give up. He’s clearly not going to say shit._

_It was worth a try? At least we know he can talk now._ A contemplative silence follows Styx as he finishes the touches on his leather vambraces before strapping them tight against his forearms, flexing his fingers tryingly.

_Look, at least he’ll probably not die the moment we set off._

_Satisfied with just one child murder, are we?_

_He’ll be fine._

_You’re ignoring me._

_Just fine._

_Dream, you rotten bastard you can’t ignore me in this child’s head, I refuse-_

_Oh, so now you wanna talk?_

_You say that if I have a choice in conversation partner. Just so you know, I’d trade you out in one fucking heartbeat. Like that. A snap of my fingers and you’d be gone-_

Styx’s head swivels to the left, blinking at the trunk of a birch tree.

_You’re confusing our child._

_Shut up._

_You just wanted me to talk!_

_I take it back. Shut up. Begone you evil, evil green bastard-_

-

_It’s been, what, three months now?_

_Since you killed us you mean?_

_I did no such thing._

_Then why else are we here? Huh? Riddle me that, bitchboy._

_Maybe, just maybe, we’re here for a reason._

_You’re lot in life is really to fuck-up one child after the other, yeah, I can see that._

_It’s just like old times. Just you and me together._

_And our fucked-up child._

A quiet snort follows the surprised wheezing laugh.

-

_I take back everything I said, this child does have a sense of style._

Styx ties the strip of green fabric around his arm, admiring it with a curl of his lips before he straps the sword to his back and hooks the axe through a loop at his belt.

The leather armour is tight against the fabric of his pink hoodie, the smiling face in red torn on the mask, index finger dipping into the pouch on his hip to gather up a small fine blue powder.

He turns the inside of his wrist up, staring down at the compass painted in gold against leather, a single arrow painted firmly straight ahead until he brushes carefully over it and it twitches a step to the left.

There’s a new sense of determination burning through him as he reaches up and frames the mask, slotting it down over his face with a breath that puffs against it.

_Oh it’s fucking on! Finally! Go, our fucked-up child, go!_

_We still need to-_

_Go! Go! Go! Go!_

_Tommy-_

_GO CHILD GO! WHOO! OFF WE FUCKING GO! IGNORE THE BORING GREEN MAN! THE WORLD AWAITS YOU!_

_TomMY-_

_Shush, don’t ruin this for me Dream. GO! YES GO CHILD! ONWARDS! Like seriously dude, take a moment and be proud for our child. YES OFF WE GOOOOOO! I BELIEVE IN YOU!_

_Oh come on-_

_GO GO GO! WHOOOOOO!_

_-_

_So, where are we going?_

_L’Manberg you daft idiot._

_And then?_ Styx scales the cliff, trading grass for snow that makes his nose twitch behind the mask as a shiver crawls down his back. _I mean, Bad is the obvious option, isn’t he?_

_When there’s Phil? Ancient, old man geezer Phil?_

_He’s a century old demon, Tommy._

_Fuck off. We’re not going to your friends and pals. Besides-_

_Tommy-_

_BESIDES. Phil is soft. Have you seen him? I was gone for, like, a month and I came back and he’d practically adopted Ranboob. He’ll take one look at this fucked-up child of ours and do- well, he’ll do something._

_And Technoblade?_

_… Worst case scenario? We’ll just make him dig a hole._

_A hole._

_The fuck do you’ve got against holes now? Is this another issue of yours Dream? Do we need to talk?_

_You’re the one suggestion holes as a solution!?_

_It’s a totally reasonable solution._

_hOW!?_

_It’s a man thing, you wouldn’t understand._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, my hand slipped.
> 
> No, I'm not in denial, they're both dead. All issues solved, clearly.
> 
> I'm a delight, I am.


	2. Chapter 2

_You’re quiet today._

Styx continues steadily forward, boots ploughing through the thick snow, eyes darting as he takes in the world around him, breath misting out from the sides of the mask on his face and-

Something anxious squirms through him and he halts, palm pressing down against his chest, over his heart-

_Tommy?_

_Would it kill you to leave me the fuck alone you clingy bitch._

Styx blows out a breath, continuing forward, scaling down a cliff with nimble movements, the sense of being watched familiar and strangely comforting as he lets himself fall, knees bending instinctively to take the brunt of the force, snow crunching.

The sun in starting to set and Styx twists his hand with a curl of his fingers, activating his inventory and grabbing for the pickaxe before crouching down.

_Just making sure._

_That I hadn’t, what? Left the child’s head? Because believe me, I’ve tried, but I’m stuck here with you and that’s just depressing. So leave me the fuck alone for one Ender-damned moment, man._

_-_

_So, how does that thing work anyway?_

_Thing?_

Styx twists his arm around, staring down at golden paint against leather for a moment, turning carefully two inches before setting off again. _The compass, Dream, the compass! What else am I supposed to ask about? The child? I mean, if you do have any theories about him I’m all open ears because-_

_It’s a desire compass._

There’s an awkward pause that Styx ignores as he lengthens his strides and presses off the ground, hand snagging around a bright red apple from a low-hanging branch and bringing it down with a curl of triumph as he cradles it against his chest.

_A what now._

_You had one._ There’s a flicker of something complicated, aching and desperate, fond and heart breaking enough that Styx stumbles to a halt, eyes finding the inside of his wrist with a tremble of his fingers as he presses down against it.

 _Huh._ Styx bends his knees, curling up with a brush of straw coloured grass, a heavy lump in his chest as he tucks his forehead down and folds around himself. _So- so how do those work exactly? Because if we’re going straight to GeorgeNotFound I’m telling you right now I’m blowing off this entire operation-_

Styx whimpers as something violent tears through him, choking him as he presses his palms down over his ears, nails digging into flesh-

 _We’re not going to George._ There’s frustration and confusion, a tangle of finalization in the words that rings through his mind, something livid and twisted wiring through him, ringing with warning.

_Then fucking explain! I’m not a fucking mind-reader you asshole!_

_You already said it! We’re going to L’Manberg! That’s where you wan’t to go right? Your oh-so-desperate wish and desire and we’re going right there! Like I said! Like you’ve been begging for this entire time-_

Panic floods him, heart pounding too loud and too fast, too little air filling his lungs as he tips forward, pressing his mask down against the dirty ground with a keen that bubbles to spill over his lips and-

-

_You violated me._

_I didn’t-_

_You. Violated me._

_There was no other way! You- we need to get back to L’Manberg, Tommy._

_Than why the fuck couldn’t you have used your own fucking desires, huh, Dream? Why- why are you always-_ There’s a choked off noise, regret and something else, something dull and resentful in its steps as Styx opens his eyes to stare up at the moon.

His body aches, his limbs clumsy as he twists to get his trembling hands beneath him, pushing up on unsteady feet to stumble forward and away from the distant sound of something sizzling with a blind sort of desire for something he doesn’t understand.

_There was no other way._

_There’s always another way, Dream. You’re just too up your own arse to see it._

_Tommy-_

_Leave me alone._

-

_I think I recognise that tree._

_You’ve said that like three times._ Something lighter, something fond, Styx humming as he raises a hand to his forehead to shield against the sun, scanning the world below his feet, his other hand finding and pressing against the tall tree beside him.

It’s rough against his skin, warmed by the heat of the sun, his thumb stroking idly against it before his nail digs down to tear a piece off.

_This again?_

He slips it into the satchel strapped to his arm, joining the other small knick-knacks he’d picked up on his journey, a small blue rock from a pretty stream, the seeds of an apple that had tasted particularly amazing, a small pretty flower with delicate white petals-

_Let him have his fun you dickhead. He’s experiencing the world for the first time! He’s like a baby calf or some shit._

_I suppose it’s rather adorable, in a strange way._

_-_

_Hey, Dream?_

_Yeah?_

_I’ve been thinking about it and, you must have a real baby face behind that mask, man._

There’s a choked and startled noise, high-pitching into a wheeze, a sense of smugness chasing at its heels.

_W-what!? Where the hell did that come from!?_

_I mean, look at him._ Styx swivels his head, blinking at a tree. _He looks like he’s fourteen or some shit. But he’s us, mashed-up, so clearly that’s your face making him look like a fucking-baby._ A beat. _I suppose that explains the mask. I’d be real embarrassed too if I looked like I was four at twenty-whatever._

_I’m twenty-one!_

_Bet you look younger than me._

_I don’t-_ The protest dies, Styx’s hand finding and pressing down against his mask. _Don’t be an idiot, Tommy._

_Aww, are you embarrassed that I squirreled out your secret, Dream? Getting flustered on your pudgy little cheeks-_

_Oh fuck off, Tommy._

_Lil baby Dweeeem-_

_-_

_You know, Technoblade used to bemoan about you ransacking his chests. Called you a raccoon._

_Oh, he used to do that, huh? Of course you’d be all chummy with the Blade, Dream. What do you two even do? Meet up and reminiscent about how pretty the fireworks were when you blew up L’Manberg, huh? Had a real proper chat about all the lives you’ve ruined, all the orphans you’ve killed-_

_You’re not an orphan._

_I’m fucking adopted and my family is shit if you haven’t already noticed. But thank you for acknowledging the fact that you killed me. Real mature of you, Dream._

_I didn’t-_ The frustration bubbles up and dies as abruptly as it had come, something regretful falling in its steps but tilted and wrong, as if incomplete and dusted with something uglier. _I’m sorry._

There’s a beat of awkward and stubborn silence, a feeling of one curling up, the other watching with fingers that hovers hesitantly in the air before drawing back.

_I miss Wilbur._

There’s a complicated twist of emotions beating with Styx’s heart as he opens his eyes and stares into the flickering flames of the fire.

_I see._

-

_I can’t believe we actually made it._

There’s something horrid crawling up his throat, something fearful, something angry, Styx’s mouth curling with a flash of teeth behind his mask.

_Tommy?_

A flash of exasperation makes Styx’s head tilt, eyes narrowing.

_Do you have to ruin every damn moment, Drea-_

_What are those?_

There’s tension running down his back, thrumming with the wet thump of his heart as Styx’s eyes follows the red vines growing and curling up the buildings, burying deep into the ground and reaching high, high into the sky, pulsing with an eerie light everywhere it reaches out.

 _Oh._ There’s a pause. _I’d forgotten you hadn’t seen- anyway, that’s the Egg. Bad is, like, in love with it or some shit and last time I was here they were building some sort of Eggpire or something. Real freaky cultish-stuff. It nearly killed me too! And Tubbo! And Sam-_

 _And no one has done anything!?_ The burst of emotions makes Styx flinch, one hand curling around the shaft of his axe, knuckles pressing white against his skin. _This isn’t normal-_

 _Of course it isn’t fucking normal! But it’s all- we tried, alright? We tried and that thing- it has a voice, and it’s like, controlling people and shit._ A beat. _Which is another reason why we’re not going to Bad._

_… What about George and Sapnap?_

_Dunno. We aren’t exactly pals, Dream._ A beat and then, grudgingly- _I think Sapnap was getting platonically married or something._

_Married??_

_Yeah. To like, Karl and- uh. Fuck. Um. Quackity? Yeah, that’s it!_

_… And George?_

_Dunno. Sullking? The fuck would I know._

_I need to-_

_NO._ _No we’re not- Dream, he can’t do shit against that thing! He’s getting less hopeless, I’ll admit that much, but he’s running around in fucking leather armour! He’ll take one look at that freaky Egg and he’s a goner, yeah? So- so, fuck that, we’re sticking with the plan and going to Phil because the Arctic Empire is Not Here and that is what we need right now. The Egg-shit, that’s second priority._

There’s a tense silence, Styx wavering, looking down at his wrist and the compass spinning wildly-

 _For once think about someone other than yourself, Dream._ Anger coils through him, frustration burning hot, voice turning strained. _I’m worried too, ain’t I? I have no fucking clue where Tubbo or Sam or anyone is but I’m trying to do the fucking right thing here and we can’t do shit like this. He’ll die and who knows what the hell will happen to-_

-before suddenly twitching in an entirely new direction to a blink of mismatched eyes.

Styx wavers but takes a step forward, a hand gently settling over the compass, a wrestling sense of stubbornness and wavering irritation and longing that slowly fades away until all he can hear and feel is the dull beating of his heart.

He stares into the distance, a hand brushing up over the handle of his sword before he sets off, making a wide berth to make sure he doesn’t get anywhere near any of the pulsing, blood red vines.

-

Styx halts, eyes finding and focusing, locking in as his hand falls limp against his side, a sense of wonder flooding through him as he hurries down, snow crunching, cold forgotten-

_The house is- what the fuck is he doing. Right, right, right- Dream, tell him to go right he’s going-_

Styx trips, wincing as his cold fingers sunk into the snow, scrambling forward on four legs, black eyes rising slowly with a huff of warm breath that mists through the air and he halts, knees hitting the snow, completely ignoring the way it soaks into his pants as he stretches a trembling hand forward.

_Brilliant. Forget the Egg, we’re going to become fucking bear-lunch._

_Wait. You mean you’re not the one responsible for this?_

_What? Do I look like someone eager to shove my hand into something with chomps like that!? I prefer my hands firmly intact, thank you very much._

_Huh._

_Is this revenge for the cat? Because I am sorry for that. She… she didn’t deserve that._

Styx shakes away the strange sense of awkwardness, inching closer, eyes on the insanely, fluffy, white, wonderful warm looking-

_I think this is all Styx._

_The hell are you on about._

_I mean- look at him?_

The creature makes a low noise and Styx opens his mouth, a low imitation crawling up his vocal chords, mouth stretching out as the creature blinked at him, head slowly lifting.

A pink tongue darts out to ghost over his fingers and Styx is _delighted._

He giggles, stretching forward, fingers disappearing into white fur, the warmth making his fingers tingle from the abrupt shift of temperature and he stills for a heartbeat.

But then the bear shifts its head closer Styx lifts his arms up high-

_Technoblade wouldn’t keep anything too bad around, would he?_

_Have you met the guy. Seriously._

Styx flops down on top of the bear, scrambling to sling his leg over it, squirming until he had an entire armful of fluff, face mushing down against it with a wordless and overwhelming feeling he doesn’t understand as it floods his chest, new and wonderful and heady as he laughs, pressing closer, digging fingers into fluff, soaking up the heat with a rumble that builds in his chest.

_Our child is insane. We fucked him up, Dream. We failed him. We’ve truly and utterly screwed this child’s mind up._

_He’s having fun._

_He’s cuddling a fucking polar bear! He’s- for fuck’s sake, the house is right there man- this is killing me._

_Someone should have heard him, he’s not exactly quiet. Technoblade-_

Styx ignores the sudden tense hush, busy rubbing his chin against soft fluffy fur, bits of snow melting against the side of his face between hood and mask, sliding down his neck with a little shiver that only makes him laugh, a breathless sort of quiet sound as something crunches in the snow.

“Heh!? The hell are you- get off Steve! He’s not a toy!”

Styx stills, face pressed into fur, a low whine escaping him as he wraps his arms tight around the living breathing thing beneath him, feeling it’s heavy breaths, the way his knees leaves the ground just an inch or two as its chest expands before pressing down again.

He shakes his head, refusing to look up, intent on remaining forever.

“Really. You’re gonna ignore me. Outside my own house.”

Styx makes a low noise of agreement, fingers curling tight in white fluff, stubborn where he clings.

“I’m- okay, I’m speechless. Where did you even- I’m not paid enough to deal with this. Phil. _PHIL_!”

_Somehow this is not how I pictured this reunion going._

_They’re clever. If there’s anyone who can put the clues together it’s Phil and Techonblade. All we needed to do was get the child to them._

_That’s if he’ll detach from the bear because I hate to say it, but he looks, uh, rather attached to it. What did Techno call it- Steve? Yeah. He’s cuddling that bitch._

A beat.

_He gets the clinginess from you._

_OI, THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?_

_Clingyinnit-_

Styx stubbornly remains in place even as his shoulders twitches, recognising a second set of steps instinctively as snow crunches and someone halts.

“Is that-“

“A child attached Steve? _Yes._ Fix it, Phil! _Make it go away_.”

“When I can watch you? Mate. It’s like you don’t even know me.”

_“Phil.”_

There’s a laugh, the sound ghosting warm along his spine.

“Where’d they even come from? Dream is dead, there should be no-one getting whitelisted anymore.”

“I don’t know! I don’t _care._ Just- my house has the worst case of pest problem I’ve ever seen. _How do they keep finding me_? Ranboo and T-“ There’s a sudden silence, a wordless warbled noise crawling up Styx’s throat as there’s a cough. “Just, fix this. _Please_.”

There’s a slow sigh and Styx tenses as something registers near his arm, crouching down.

“Hey there, mate.” There’s friendliness and warmth in the voice despite an underlying tension. A low soothing cadence that makes him want to press close and pull away at the same time, the feelings bubbling and warring inside of him, resentment and old tired anger, hurt and something he doesn’t understand.

_Tommy-_

_Shut up. I don’t want to talk about it, bitchboy, so fuck off._

Styx makes a grumpy noise, burying deeper.

“Mine,” he grunts out, tightening his hold.

There’s a flare of surprise to sudden he nearly jerks back before catching himself, mask pressing down, a shiver crawling through him as he slowly becomes aware of the soaked state of his clothes, ill-fit for the weather.

“No.”

“Techno-“

“He’s already trying to steal from me, Phil! I can’t- _I can’t do this again_.” There’s a hush, tension that makes his chest squirm.

“We can’t leave him like this. Something’s not… _Look at him Techno.”_

Styx feels heavy eyes digging into his neck and he’s suddenly and intensely thankful for the hood he’d pulled up to shield himself from the harsh winds.

_I told you he was soft._

_He’s the Angel of Death. There’s nothing soft about him._

A curious sort of emotion squirms through him.

_Are you- are you afraid of Phil, Dream?_

_What- of course I’m not-!_

“I-“ There’s a rough exhalation. “ _Fine_. But he’s your responsibility. _Steve._ ” Styx digs knees and elbows down, clinging with a surprised breath through a click of teeth as the fluffiness beneath him shifts, paws hidden in the snow stretching out beneath him, his eyes widening behind the mask as it gives a ruffle of its heavy fur before lumbering forward.

Styx warbles a soft noise of silent delight.

“He steal a single thing-“

“I’ll keep an eye on him. I promise.”

A scoff, Steve following the rough voice up stairs and through a door that Styx blinks at as they pass by from the corner of his vision, something nervous threading at the back of his mind, shaken away as he flexes his fingers in fluff, mouth softening as he buries back with a soft croon.

-

“Is he… Is he just going to _stay_ like that?”

“He’s not stealing anything, is he?” There’s warmth there, amusement and a lilt of teasing that makes Styx tilt his head just an inch to listen.

“You say that as if he’s not clearly trying to steal Steve.”

“He’s skin and bones. What’s he gonna do? Haul him over his shoulder and carry him out?”

“Steve’s a glutton. Offer him a fish and he’ll follow you anywhere.”

_“Techno.”_

“Don’t-“

“Techiee,” Styx warbles. “Te-chiee.”

_I’m becoming less proud of this child of ours for every second, man. This is just– this is embarrassing._

_That’s the second word he’s said today._

_That’s barely a word at all! That’s-_ A noise of wordless frustration. _Techno is gonna murder him._

_For calling him Techie? It’s cute._

_Don’t. Dream. I swear to everything-_

“It’s Tech _no._ ”

“Tech-iee,” Styx insists stubbornly, burying deeper, a morbid sort of curiosity making his brain itch as he makes a low grunt of annoyance, shaking his head with a ruffle of his hoodie.

_I haven’t called him Techie since I was like. Nine._

_Wait. You called him that? To his face? And you’re alive!?_

_… Forget I said anything at all._

_No, no- tell me all about how you used to call the feared Blood God Techie, Tommy. I want to hear all about it._

_You’re such a dickhead, you know that?_

“I’m Phil.” The presence is back at Styx’s side with a pop of joints as he kneels down, balancing carefully beside him. “Can you tell me yours, mate?”

_“You can tell him, it’s okay Styx.”_

_“You can trust him. Phil is-“_ A breath, a grudging sort of loss and longing alike, aching where it settles in his heart. _“He won’t hurt you.”_

Styx tightens his hold, refusing to respond, feelings tangling too thick inside of him, hurt and aching with a childish sort of distrust that wraps around him.

_Tommy, he’ll never trust them like this._

_I can’t exactly help what I feel, can I? Fuck off, Dream._

“I think he responds better to you.”

“What- I’m not. _Phil._ ”

“Come on, just- give it a try. It can’t hurt, right?”

There’s a noise of disbelief and then-

“Kid.” Styx tenses. “ _Look at me_.”

And-

There’s something horrible and desperate alike unfurling through him, blossoming through his veins with memories that _burns_ and he jolts, eyes flaring wide, a whine broken and choked, the taste of ash on his tongue and flames in his heart-

Styx gasps for air, fingers grasping white fur, mask turning to look right up and-

There’s steps, noise, something ugly and furious and-

Styx is-

_Shit, shit, shit shit- DREAM!_

_“Styx! STYX you’re okay, you’re safe, you’re safe, you’re safe-“_

-

Styx stares down at white fluff, sneezing with a surprised little jolt as he gave himself a rough shake, slowly pressing up with a little wobble and a huff as he turned his head and-

He stills, finding eyes regarding him, something rigid in the shoulders of the man staring back at him with a pig-like mask pushed up to his forehead, tusks jutting out from his mouth, green dangling in pink ears tipped at the point.

Styx stretches his hand out, stilling as the other tensed, wariness in those blood red eyes.

The other slowly mirrors him, a slow tilt of his head as Styx wraps his fingers around a bare wrist where white fabric had been rolled up to his elbows.

“Techie," his mouth curls around the name, tasting it carefully. “Same.” He loosens his hold on the bear to grasp and tug his hoodie closer, admiring the colour of it alongside the other’s skin. “Pink!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The danger of traumatizing orphans is that traumatized orphans will, sooner or later, catch up to you.
> 
> It's a hard life, man.
> 
> \----
> 
> Apologies in advance but I'm pretty crappy at finding time to respond properly to comments. Life is a bit rough atm and fanfics are how I cope. 
> 
> But know I love every single one of them and that I treasure them dearly. And I do try to at least answer questions and such as quickly as I can!


	3. Chapter 3

”Where did you get that mask, kid?”

_He came with it, unfortunately._

_It caught his attention so it’s a good thing, really._

_Of course you'd say that you narcissistic pric-_

Styx jerks his head to the side but the other shifts, drawing his attention back with a little twitch, eyes darting over pink skin, locking onto the small gleaming emerald with a funny little twist before he ducks his head down.

“Mine.” The word is reassuring and he likes the way his mouth curls around it.

“You’re wearing it,” the other acknowledges with a complicated sort of lilt. “But that smile is distinctive enough. I _know_ that mask, even if the colour is all wrong. _So_ , where did you find it?”

“It doesn’t sound like he has a proper grasp of language, mate,” Phil muses where he’s lingering a step away and Styx’s eyes darts up and then back to pink skin, warm beneath his palm, his index finger just a little bit crooked where it presses down.

Techno leans forward, Styx's head immediately snapping up, shoulders drawing tense, but knuckles merely taps lightly against the surface of his mask.

“Can you remove this for me?”

Styx stares at him.

_I can’t believe he picked pink because of Techno._

_He’s clearly curious. Maybe, if we play this right…_

_“Styx.”_ His shoulders twitches. _“You can remove it. He won’t take it. Techno, he wants to help you.”_

_… Are you serious right now, Dream._

Styx head swivels towards Phil, scowling, anxiousness crawling through him, eyes darting down to focus on white fluffy fur as he digs a hand back into it.

But he doesn’t let go of Techno, swallowing thickly, emotions churning through him, complicated and tangled, warm and cold, a warring sense of two very different sides.

_Focus on positive emotions._

_Like fucking what!?_

_I don't care! Just do it._

Slowly, Styx releases the other’s wrist, watching it for a moment, unsure and feeling strangely small as he reaches up, fingers spreading over the face of the mask, one finger sliding along the edge to release the clasp and his breath hitches, a low warbled whine crawling anxiously up his throat.

There’s a soft clearing of a throat. “I won’t take it. Just- it would help. A lot.” There’s a stilted sort of awkwardness to his cadence that makes a new feeling bubbling up as he lowers his mask down, gazing at the other with an unsure tilt of his head.

Techno leans forward and Styx blinks at him with mismatched eyes in an off-kilter face.

“Why-“ Techno breathes out. “Phil, _please_ tell me I’m imagining this.”

“Imagining what?”

Techno’s brow furrows and Styx’s hand jerks up to cover his face again but-

A hand curls around his wrist this time, slotting down, index and middle-finger finding his pulse and pressing down and-

Styx nearly slumps forward, his body going boneless, eyes fluttering with a low whurr of surprise and warmth and hard-forged trust and longing, his hand twisting, fingers pressing down instinctively in a perfect copy where they envelope pink skin.

Technoblade stares at him, frozen, red eyes suddenly closer as he leant forward, searching, Styx allowing him with a strange lull of his thoughts, eyes lidded.

_What the hell is this._

_… We used to fight in the arena together. Before all of this._ Styx remains still, trusting as a hand carefully raises to cover up one side of his face with a press of a warm palm that makes him tip closer with a noise of content as more warmth laps up his heart, threatening to drown him. _I’m… I’m just focusing on that._

There’s a dull echo of disbelief and distrust, envy and something else as fingers slowly folds together to cover his blue eye.

“Phil, I think I’m hallucinating.”

“There _is_ a child there.”

“That’s not what’s concerning me.” Techno shifts on his heels, hand moving to the other side of Styx’s face, his breath hitching before he abruptly yanked it away, nearly sending Styx sprawling out on the floor as he tipped to instinctively follow it, fingers finding fur and jerking him up with a discontent whine as Techno took several steps back from him and turned his back.

“I’m not doing this. _This_ was a mistake in the first place. Nothing good ever comes from children in this house, Phil. Get it out _.“_

“What’s-“ There’s a hand reaching out, roughly shouldered away. _“_ Techno!

_“Get it out!”_

“You have to tell me what’s going on, Techno, or I can’t help you!” There’s a flutter of steps, hands raised, Styx hunching as he watches. “Why are you getting so agitated-”

“I’m not agitated!” There’s a low rumble of warning, deceptively deep from the body it comes from. “Clearly I must have woken up wrong today. Or maybe I didn’t wake up at all! Because there’s no way, there’s _no way-_ so _why-“_

Styx warbles in panic as the man suddenly bends over, palms pressing down against his head with a grunt of pain, and he abandons white and fluff and warmth with a stumble of steps, ignoring blue eyes that shoots warningly towards him as he reaches out and presses palms down over the others hands.

“Quiet,” he demands, displeased, teeth baring.

Techno draws a harsh breath, jerking to turn around, to shrug him off-

But Styx presses harder, scowl deepening.

_… This is bizarre._

_He knows about Chat?_

_You know about-_

“Quiet!” he snaps. “Voice, quiet!”

_Is he telling us or them._

_A bit of both I’m gambling._ There’s intrigue and interest, curiosity that Styx struggles against before it fades away and he yelps in surprise as he’s raised up on his tip-toes as the other straightens out, chest rising and falling too hard to be natural.

“Techno?”

“He made them stop.” A rough swallow. “I think- I think he surprised them I’m-“ There’s something suddenly exhausted, wary and heavy with a mix of emotions as he looks back at Styx. “He looks like _Dream._ ” There’s a strange weight in the words and there’s a jerk from the other, a hiss of words that’s lost to Styx’s ears as he stares into the blood red depth of the eyes in front of him. “But also Tomm-“

“No.”

“Phil-“

 _“No._ Tommy is _dead._ He was-“ There’s a hitch, a desperate shaking of a head at the corner of Styx’s eyes and a strange rustle that makes his shoulders twitch.

“He knows about Chat.”

“That proves _nothing_!”

“In the arena, Dream and I- he copied it _perfectly,_ Phil.”

“So- so Dream had a fucking kid or something, that’s all, that’s-“

_“LOOK AT HIM.”_

Styx flinches back, hands curling tight against his chest as he stumbles away, chest heaving and something else rattling through him, fear and distrust, a sense of being too young for his body as a whine bubbles to spill over his lips, eyes shutting tight as he desperately tried to shake it away.

His palms finds his ears, folding them over and pressing them tight as he dropped down, curling up on himself, anxiousness bubbling and frothing and spilling over, leaking in all the wrong ways over his senses.

“You scared him.“

“He’ll survive. You- we need to have a talk, Phil.”

“So you’re just gonna leave him here? With Steve?”

“I’ve known you for years, Phil. That tactic hasn’t worked on me since I was _eight._ ”

-

_“You did good, Styx.”_

There’s a hiccup in response.

_“You did good. Go to sleep. Your mask is- yeah, that’s it. Put it on and you’ll feel better“_

_You have so many issues, Dream, anyone ever tell you that?_

_“... Sleep, Styx. You’re safe.”_

_-_

_This is a disaster._

_I was expecting it to go worse, to be honest. This isn’t that bad._

_Worse than this!? How? Add a bit of murder to spice it up?_ There’s a pause. _You know, considering it’s Technoblade the absence of bloodshed is probably an upgrade to whatever scenario you were imagining so- yeah, okay, I’ll bite. Would have been a bit awkward if we ended up dead, again, after just getting him here._ There’s beat of silence and then a huff. _So, now what?_

_We wait._

_Uh-huh. Brilliant plan there, dickhead. Really couldn’t have worked that one out myself. I meant after he wakes up you fucking smartass._

_Well. We need to work on Styx’s vocabulary._

_Fantastic. We’re up to, what, four words now? After almost five months? Making real progress here. Poggers, it is._

_There’s not much else we can do, Tommy! We push too much and it just- you saw him. It got too much, he doesn’t understand and it all ends up sideways._ A frustrated breath, hands tangling in hair with a rough tug. _We know- we know we can influence him. We just- we need to figure out how to do it **right**._

Something suddenly cold makes Styx shiver, curling up tighter, fingers clenching tight in white fur.

_… You’re talking about manipulating him._

_He is us! He- he wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for us! We’re- we’d just be doing what he exists for. Why else did we come here if not to-_

_**No**._

There’s a reassuring finality in the word that rings so simple in his mind, one hand curling tight around the handle of the sword on the floor beside him.

_I’m not letting you do the same thing to him as you did to me. He relies on us so take some fucking responsibility, man. Be less shitty. Have a fucking redemption arc! Don’t pick manipulating children as your first choice you absolute fucking arse._

_He’s not even a child! He’s not even supposed to exist! He’s an- an amalgamation of something that went wrong or-or-_

_Fuck off. He’s ours. I’m officially claiming him as our child. There. Parent up or go die you dick._

_You can’t just-_

_Watch me._

_You can’t be serious._

_Oh, I’m very serious, Daddy Dream._

-

Styx knows he’s supposed to feel something but he’s very distracted by the grey softness that stretches and folds, drawing his attention up and then down, delight bubbling through him as he coos, ignoring the hand that covers half his face as the two people stares at him.

“… That is Tommy’s eye. And scar.”

“Oh I’m so glad we’re both seeing that.”

“I don’t know what Dream looked like.”

“But I _do_ and that’s very much Dream’s eyes and freckles.” A pause. “A bit younger but for sure Dream. Guy doesn’t know it but I’ve seen his face, like, three times.”

_He’s what now._

“This is-“ A deep tired sigh, a hand rubbing down against a scruffy chin. “How is this even possible? Dream and Tommy both _died_.“

“But their bodies were never recovered.” The wing raises high, Styx fingers barely reaching, and then dips down, brushing over his knuckles, allowing him to touch with gentle fingers, having already been chided once after nearly yanking a handful out. “And their death messages were all glitched out. That’s not normal.”

“… I honestly thought they might have burnt in the lava.” Styx pauses, swivelling to look at the winged man, blinking owlishly to a pause, head tilting, eyes regarding him in return with contemplation that makes his neck itch as he averts his gaze down.

The mask stares at him from the back of Steve’s neck, black, smile red and torn, one hand pressing down to cover it up.

He frowns.

“And now we know they did not." 

“Doesn’t explain what _did_ happen.”

“It does not,” Techno agrees as he straightens up. “It’s like a puzzle. The worst kind, honestly because our solution can't even get a proper hint out."

Styx’s attention are drawn from wings to a hand that gently waves in front of his face and he follows it instinctively, head tilting with the motion, stopping as it stops, following it slowly as it tilts the other direction before stopping again.

Huffs as it lowers.

“Do you have a name?”

Styx gives the winged man a blank look.

“We’re not naming it.”

“He’s a _child_ , Techno.” Fingers reaches out and Styx nearly goes cross-eyed from following it, brow furrowing as it pinched down against his nose and-

His hand clenches down on the fist, the other slamming over his nose-

He gives the winged man a betrayed look to a twitch of lips as a hand unfurls beneath his to reveal a thumb and not his nose.

Styx gives him a long-suffering look.

“Not even Tommy was dumb enough to fall for that trick, Phil."

_OI. I was fucking seven when I met you, far too old to fall for that kind of shit!_

“Tommy was seven, Techno, not exactly the age to fall for tricks like that.”

“And that child is how old you think?” Comes the dry response. “Because it is _at least_ twelve.”

“Closer to fourteen I’d gamble-“

There’s a loud burst of cackles at the back of Styx’s mind which he sneezes at.

“-And he got here somehow, didn’t he? Clearly he can fight, both the axe and sword are well-used. Kinda in need of a cleaning too. I don’t want to know what they’re covered in to have made them go _green_...”

_Spider venom. A lot of it._

_He does get very aggressive with them._

A quiet snort.

_Stab-happy is the word I'd use._

“It’s poetic, isn’t it?” Styx looks up at Techno who is looking out the window, one of his hands drifting down to bury back into the white fur of the snoring bear. “Dream preferred the axe but Tommy was always fanatic about the blade.”

“Techie,” Styx warbles in agreement, lips spreading out in a grin as he pats the handle of his sword.

He gets a deadpan look in return as Phil chokes on a laugh.

“He’s clearly got some of Tommy in him.” There’s loss and something aching in the winged man’s voice and Styx makes a low noise, fingers reaching out to touch soft against his cheek before stilling, head jerking, something furious, something fearful making him snap it down as he shook his head violently.

He curls his hand guiltily against his chest with a hiccup as he looks away, shoulders drawn tense.

“… Whatever he is it’s strange.” Styx tenses as a hand gently frames his jaw, turning him back around to be studied by blue eyes as he stares mulishly at the floor. “His reactions aren’t normal.”

“What about this situation is normal to you exactly, Phil? Because right now I’ve got _nothing._ ”

“I mean-“ Styx feels a tug of curiosity and childish longing suddenly flood through him, folding over the strange tension, and he peers up into blue eyes. “He’s reacting and not reacting to us and then it’s almost as if he’s reacting to something _else._ ”

“Like Chat.”

 _“Maybe."_ A heavy pause. "Techno, what if _Chat_ was Tommy and Dream?"

Styx tilts his head curiously at two sets of eyes staring at him with something he doesn’t understand.

“That sounds like hell,” Techno says flatly.

_I couldn’t agree more, big man. Get me out of here!_

“Kid.” Styx whurrs softly in acknowledgement. “Do you-“ Phil taps gently against the side of his head. “Do you _hear_ someone here?”

Styx’s face twists into a scowl.

“Loud,” he grumps.

_-I have a name, please tell them my name, just- Tommy. Say Tommy, you can do it, or- or Toms! Big T! Big T is good too, I'm not picky, just please-_

“Loud,” Styx repeats with a frustrated shake of his head.

A flare of irritation and, quieter, something sad and hurt and _young_ , and Styx stills, one palm pressing hesitantly against his chest before staring down at it.

His fingers are thin, nimble, index finger crooked, burn scars wrapping thick in pink lines and then- 

-a beat of hollow desperation, the feeling of eyes burning, skin cold as shaking hands tear into wet earth, small white lines left where stones had torn it open, ears ringing-

The same hands shaking, vision blurring, choking-

_~~“Sam? SAM? PHIL- PHIL PLEASE-“~~ _

Styx looks up, searching blue eyes, pushing down the complicated mix of emotions in his chest as he reaches out and presses his palm flat and sure to a hitch of the man's breath and-

“Dadza.”

Phil stares at him and Styx stares back, hesitant as he searches the man’s eyes, feeling the beat of his heart beneath his palm, warm and alive, there despite-

_~~“DAD, PLEASE-"~~_

“Breathe, Phil.” There’s a harsh drawn breath, Styx watching him patiently, head tilting as a hand settles almost desperately over his own to press and hold it there.

“Techno, you heard that, right? I didn’t just hallucinate that, did I? _Please_ tell me I didn’t-“

“Yeah.” There’s a rough exhalation. “Yeah, that was Tommy alright. Only he and Wilbur used to call you that.” There’s a pause. “Pray it’s Tommy and not the other.” Red eyes focuses on him. “If you get any urges to blow things up you _tell me,_ okay?”

Styx blows him a raspberry.

“… I’ll take it.”

“So-“ Phil draws a breath. “If he has Tommy and… and _Dream_ in his head how the _fuck_ did that happen and how do we fix it?”

Eyes stares at him.

Styx blinks back, nonplussed.

“So, first thing first- do we tell anyone?”

Phil’s eyes doesn’t veer from Styx and Styx is content to let them be, letting the voices of the two lull him as he looks back down at white fluff, his free hand threading idly through it, focusing on the soft snuffling noises of the bear breathing in and out beneath him.

_Tommy?_

_Go away._

_-_

_… What happened, Dream?_

_When?_

_… In the cell. I don’t- I don’t remember. Why-_

Silence.

_Why can't I remember?_

...

_Dream?_

_-_

Styx curls around himself, aching for something he doesn’t understand.

_-_

He stares at red and green and red and green stares back.

Styx makes a lunge to grab but there’s a flutter of purple particles and his fingers folds down on empty air, leaving him to tip forward with a noise of surprise as he hit the ground.

His head jerks up from the floor with confusion as he scrambles up on his knees, turning and-

Red and green peers at him from behind a wing that raises up to cover them as Styx plants himself on his rump, peering from Phil and then back to his wing with accusation.

“Leave Ranboo alone,” Techno says dryly as he reaches down to haul him up by his scruff of his neck, holding just long enough for Styx to find his footing before abruptly releasing him.

“Same.” He points.

“Not the same, mate,” Phil’s voice is warm and amused. “Ranboo is an Enderman hybrid.”

“Hi.” A hand raises up with a wave over a grey wing and Styx perks up, following it until it disappeared again.

Styx crouches down to look at the shiny shoes behind Phil’s boots and sees something black disappear lightning quick to a low laugh.

“Good call,” Phil grins and there’s a nervous cough.

“This is just bizarre. I wouldn’t- I’d never have guessed anything like this was _possible._ ”

“And we don’t even know what _this_ is.”

_Hell._

_It could be worse._

_Please, enlighten me, how anything could be worse than being stuck here with you._

_You could be alone._

There’s a twist of emotions at that which Styx frowns at before he shifts closer, pausing as Techno turned to look down at him with unimpressed eyes.

“Does he… Does he have a _name_?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“ _Ask him?”_

“He’s harmless.”

Technoblade snorts. “I wouldn’t call him harmless, Phil. Not if he has both Tommy and Dream rattling about in his brain. That’s just a recipe for disaster, a bomb waiting to explode, a-“

“I get it, Techno.”

Styx perks up as red and green once again appear in his vision, a wing folding down and knees straightening out-

Styx makes a low noise of surprise, staring up, up, _up_ -

“I’m. Um. My name is Ranboo. Hi.” A black hand rises in a jerky little wave. “It’s nice to meet you. _Yous._ I mean, Tommy and Dream already know who I am so maybe this is all-“

_Ranboob. Call him Ranboob, pleaaaase, it’d make all of this worth it._

Styx perks at the voice, frowning in concentration as he focuses and-

“Ran- _boooob_ ,” he enunciates carefully.

Surprise floods him, delight stronger as the sad voice laughs for the first time in hours and Styx grins bright and wide at the tall hybrid.

“Oh _no_.”

-

“This is strange.”

“That’s an apt description.”

Styx sits, one hand grasping fluffy white fur, the other raised, brow furrowed in focus as he carefully tracks the slim black tail wagging playfully in front of him.

“I’m almost afraid to know how this happened.”

“You’re not the only one.”

“… How’s Phil handling it?”

“Badly.”

“Ah.”

The black tail twists suddenly, flicking gently up his nose and Styx smacks his face with sudden force, blinking as it froze in surprise, having just dodged his hand.

“Tommy _and_ Dream, huh.”

“I’m in just as much disbelief as you are.”

Styx sniffles, lip wobbling and eyes scrunching up-

_“PHIL!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everything is hanging alright with you guys, I'm having way too much fun with this fic. So self-indulgent and your responses are amazing.
> 
> Truly, I'm vibing.
> 
> Much love until next chapter! I'm gonna sleep bcs it's almost 5 am so I'm just gonna duck out on that.


	4. Chapter 4

Styx dreams of ash and smoke, of golden brown eyes that fills his heart with reassurance and love, a hand always reaching out until it doesn’t, yellow replaced by the swish of a brown coat and a back that feels too distant where he looks at it.

He dreams of the same coat, ruined and bloody, grasped in thin scarred hands, cold inside the flimsy fabric that whips around him in the harsh wind and pitter-patter of rain as he curls around it.

The world tastes bitter and lonely and he doesn’t understand.

-

Styx looks upon a world of green and opportunities, pride inside him even as he stumbles back and collapses down with a press of flowers beneath him and a laugh that bubbles wild in his chest, twisted with mania and something grander, something _impossible._

Warm wetness spill down behind a mask that’s both freedom and captivity, nails digging into his arms as he hunches upon himself and closes his eyes.

He’s _home_.

No. No, even better because _he made this and no one, no one can take that away from him-_

-

”You’re not supposed to be here.”

Styx reaches out, fingers touching black ribbed horns before hands curls tight around his arms, not unkindly, but firm as they’re lowered down, brown eyes with slanted pupils burning into his where he sits in the dark void.

“Go back, kid.”

_-_

The world is dark when he wakes up, a startled hiccup of breath, chest expanding with surprise as he draws himself up, scrubbing his sleeve against his eyes with a noise of tired confusion.

_Styx?_

His brow furrows and he shakes his head to the low tired voice.

 _Well, Dream is still asleep so you’re stuck with me for the moment,_ the voice tells him with a wry sort of twist of its lips. _He’s taking one of his cat naps, if you will. He does when he thinks I’m not paying attention._ Styx sees blue eyes, the stretch of arms ghostly and just out of sight in his mind. _I can’t sleep for shit anymore. I’m lucky if I catch a few hours here and there, but if he thinks I sleep like a log – well, that’s good, you feel me?_

Styx slowly presses off the bed and pads over the floorboards on quiet feet, cracking the door carefully open.

 _The plank on your left-_ Styx side-steps it and there’s a beat of surprise and something uncomfortable in his chest. _I really can’t tell how much you know and don’t know when you do shit like that, you know?_ The voice muses. _How much of us are, I dunno, hotwired into you with weird instincts and, well, I guess it’s fucking whatever anyway._ Something darker, something jagged- _I must really have fucked life up if this is what I get out of death._

Styx pauses, staring down the dark corridor, one hand outstretched to touch against wood.

 _Dream- he can think whatever he wants but between you and me, I didn’t want to see them again,_ the voice tells him quietly as he looks at the wrap of think burns that reaches all the way up his fingers, pink and shining in the low light from the lamp above. _I don’t think they wanted to see me either,_ it tells him as he takes a slow step forward. _I used to think we were family but- I understand now that- Wilbur is Phil’s biological son, and Techno-_ A tired sigh that worms its way through Styx’s bones, bitter and hurt. _He’s the favourite, always has been. I was just the lonely kid who had shit and latched on to the first scrap of affection offered my way._

And-

Styx sees the spread of wide grey wings that invites him in after stumbling down steps from a nightmare, fists small as they curl hesitantly into green fabric, bunching it up as he buries his forehead against a warm shoulder, arms and wings tucking around him and-

An empty house, fist buried in the yellow sweater of the older boy curled up beside him _because the empty house isn’t a home, it’s wooden walls and rattling windows and cold, filled with trinkets that are brought home but mean nothing, shimmering and taunting where they lie in a house that isn’t a home because home is golden brown eyes and a hand that reaches blindly to squeeze his._

Styx sees admiration in awe as he stares up at someone not-human as tusks grows, teeth sharp in a jagged grin, eyes burning _redredred_ in the night as one creature after the other falls to the swing of a sharp axe that buries deep, wrenching out and colliding with a sickening crunch into the head of another, shirt more red than white as the form slowly shrinks with a breath of hot air that curls white in the dark night in the aftermath, a hand pink and bloody reaching to pull him up and-

Gangly limbs pinning a smaller boy down against a grassy ground, an arrow buried in a too-thin shoulders, teeth bloody and reassurance soft because _Wilbur isn’t a warrior, he’s a poet, a musician, revolution in the curl of his crooked grin and clever tongue and they’re too young, don’t know enough, and Tommy grasps a wooden sword and promises to learn how to protect in the absence of-_

He sees a yellow shirt that’s soft against his cheek, chin too sharp where it presses down against the top of his head in a silent, empty house and _he’s his brother’s man through and through because when everyone else left, Wilbur stayed, and he didn’t just stay, he claimed Tommy as his own_ , _as his **brother.**_

 _We used to call him Dadza, as a joke, but it never-_ There’s a curl of embarrassment and then, deeper, longing for something that was never allowed to be his. _It never felt like a joke, you know?_

Styx takes two stumbling steps forward, hand grasping the railing tight with a curl of scarred fingers as he eases himself down, the light of the lantern barely reaching him.

He sees-

A boy, his age, thin and starving, cold as he stumbles, searching desperately, finding-

A house that isn’t a home, _never a home, there is no home without his brother and Wilbur is deaddeaddead_ , hands digging and digging, carving out his own hole because _Techno can’t throw him out if he doesn’t know he’s there, he can’t trust anyone, he thought Dream was his friend but he’s not but he is and he can’t feel his foot, he can’t feel his foot, and it’s cold and he hates this and he’s lonely, so lonely, it aches and he misses-_

He stares at a boy with brown hair and soft floppy ears, small horns peaking up, still growing, a suit strange and stiff where it sits on his too young shoulders and _he doesn’t understand how Tubbo could do this to him, after everything, and yet-_

 _~~“Tommy, I am so, so sorry.”~~ _

It’s fear, it’s betrayal, it’s **anger,** at himself, at the world, at his brother for leaving him, at Techno for siding with the man who’d _torn him apart until he barely knew himself anymore_ and fury that fizzles and dies as he stares at the man he’d wanted desperately to be his father _who kills his son but never spares him a single look as he chokes and drownsdrownsdrowns because his brother is dead and no-one seems to fucking care-_

It’s frustration, a hand knuckled tight around a golden compass, water dripping from his clothes and hair and down his nose after fishing it up from the water he’d thrown it at in frustration and _Tubbo was never supposed to leave him, not like this, not like this, not like this, he’s so lonely it hurts it hurts it hurts and he can’t do this, he can’t do this_ **alone** _-_

The ocean beckons him.

The sky beckons him.

The lava beckons him.

 _~~“It’s not your time to die yet, Tommy.”~~ _

_~~“It’s never my time to die.”~~ _

It’s blood in the snow, it’s blood in the grass, it’s too thin limbs and eyes that ignores all of that, it’s reliance and trust and broken bonds and _he wants to scream until his throat is raw and bloody but he can’t do that, he can’t do that, because he’s supposed to be better, he’s supposed to-_

_~~“You’re my brother, Tommy.”~~ _

He’s Tommy. He’s his brother’s man, even at the end, following in his footsteps because it’s all he knows and he clings to scraps and memories of better times even as the world spirals around him because _he doesn’t know who he is on his own_.

_~~“You are yourself.”~~ _

_Phil will help you,_ the voice tells him. _But don’t make the same mistake I did because you’ll regret it. You’re- you’re far too trusting but you need to understand that- this server? The people in it? We’re all fucked-up in the worst of ways, even the good sort. Everyone betrays everyone._

A figure flickers in front of his vision, shoulders solidifying, bruised and blood splattered, hair more red than blond as a mouth stretches out, teeth bloody.

Styx looks at Tommy and Tommy looks right back at him with eyes that _burn._

_You’re just in for the ride, man. And that fucking sucks but you have me, Styx. You have me and I’ll get you out of this alive if it so is the last thing I fucking do._

_-_

Styx presses his thumbs down gently to follow the arch of white fur between two closed eyes, listening to the quiet breathing of Steve who’d ambled inside, wet with snow, to drop his head in his lap nearly an hour ago.

His legs are numb from the weight but he finds that he doesn’t care.

“The fewer who knows the better-“

“We can’t pretend that this doesn’t change everything, Techno! If there’s a chance Dream is still alive that means-“

“Sam is the Warden of the prison-“

“And he _failed_ -“

Voices rising and falling in an argument that’s getting old and tired, books open and strewn about in the room, searching for answers, for a way to-

“We should tell Tubbo,” Ranboo’s voice cuts in and Styx looks up sharply, focusing on the half-Enderman to find red and green eyes regarding him back, a complicated sort of look crossing his gaze before it flitters away. “He- he deserves to know.”

Styx’s palm finds and presses down over a golden compass drawn in dust and powered by blue.

It hasn’t stopped spinning since he stepped into the house.

Styx leans down to wrap his arms around Steve’s fluffy neck, mindful of his mask as he rests his chin on top of the bear’s head.

“No.”

There’s a stretch of silence, Ranboo staring at Styx, Styx ignoring him, Phil and Techno’s argument faltering to something Styx doesn’t care about.

“What- what do you mean by _no_?” Ranboo asks cautiously with a nervous flick of his tail behind him.

“No Tubbo,” Styx says simply.

-

There’s something muffled and furious, emotions burning through Styx where he sits, curled up at the window, knees drawn to his chest and mask pressing down against them.

_Would you- SIT DOWN._

It all tumbles together, a whirlwind of too much and too little, a distant beat but so very close, his and not his, regret and mortification, relief and something grittier and uglier and worried and triumphant as Tommy collapses upon himself, anger drained out of him to leave something hollow in its place.

 _He feels what we’re feeling and then he reacts to it!_ The green voice wavers with something odd, interest and curiosity but troubled and complicated, a fumbling reach, awkward and hesitant and wrong in the hands that tries to wield it as a fingers reaches out to a violent jerk. _Tommy-_

_DON’T. Don’t fucking touch me I swear-_

_Okay, fine._ Irritation flares up inside Styx and he furrows his brow, picking at it until he sees more green, a hoodie, soft, bright in colour but odd-fitting, pooling over thin limbs in a mockery of what should have been there. _Be a child then! Unable to make up your mind about anything! Do that! Have fun with that! But you can’t blame him when you’re the reason he feels like this!_

Tommy glares up at the taller figure but it twists, longing and loss and tangled with black threads that wrap around his figure, knotting and fumbling him up, his breath harsh and furious and helpless in his chest.

Styx reaches out, hand hovering, but blue eyes doesn’t look at him, doesn’t seem to see him as he finds a knot and tugs at it until it very gently unravels in his hand and he finds a string which he balls up and slips into the pouch on his arm.

 _I AM A CHILD you fucking DICKHEAD!_ The fury explodes sharp and wild and stumbling. _What the FUCK do you want me to feel, huh!? Tubbo EXILED ME. He- HE LEFT ME WITH YOU AND HE DIDN’T EVEN FUCKING BOTHER TO-_

It’s old, it’s gnarled, it’s new, it aches for things that were in a warped mess, tension brimming between two very different figures, green burning behind white, blue livid and mouth bared in an ugly snarl.

 _He’s my best friend but he sure seemed damn HAPPY to get rid of me and I’m fucking trying but I’m fucking dead and I’M ALLOWED to feel fucking shit about that so- so SO HELL WITH YOU._ Quieter, bitterness thick and ugly. _YOU caused this so- so FUCK YOU!_

Styx feels the tug at the other voice- feelings that echoes wrong, as if dug _downdowndown_ to not be touched.

It’s defensive, it’s old, it’s young, it’s cruel, it’s weak, it’s lonely and it aches behind arms folded over a green-clothed chest, mask a protective shield against the world.

 _I miss Tubbo,_ Tommy bites out. _But I’m allowed to feel fucking messed-up about it so- so go suck a fucking lemon you fucking prick._

_-_

_I think he’s angry with me,_ the green voice tells Styx and it’s mild, it’s curious, seeking answers where there are none, leaving him with the feeling of someone peering over his shoulder but inside his head. _So I guess that makes two of us he’s sulking at._

Styx trots through the snow at the heels of Techno who is geared up with a toolkit, his boots sinking heavy into the snow despite his willow build, and Styx measures his step between them to leave his own trail.

 _… I think I sometimes forget how young he really is,_ the voice tells him, tone wry. _He’s always been obstinate, loud, so ready to defend what he believes in even when the world gives him nothing back._ Something knowing, something familiar, kinship but strange. _I tried to warn him-_

Styx halts.

“Dream.” There’s a flash of hot surprise, electric where it burns on his tongue, and he ignores Techno in front of him as he furrows his brow, focusing and- “Tommy _sad._ ” The words are clumsy in his mouth, one hand clenching and unclenching in the fabric of his pink hoodie.

“- kid?”

 _I know he is,_ Dream answers after a long beat, green eyes burning inside his mind. _But what do you expect me to do about it? He’s made his stance very clear. He never listens to me and he’s even impossibly more stubborn when he’s like- this._ A vague gesture towards the other presence, deep asleep with a lingering exhaustion that tugs at Styx when he focuses.

“B-eee kind.” Styx tugs at locks of his hair in frustration. “ _Kind,”_ he emphasises when he can’t find words to shape. “Dream-“ He makes a noise of frustration and pats a hand against ear-

 _Listen?_ Dream translates, almost curiously.

“Listen,” Styx agrees, perking up. “Listen,” he repeats and pats his ear and then folds his hand in a fist and thumps it against his heart. _“Listen.”_

“Kid?” A hand on his shoulder makes him jerk and he finds red eyes burning into his where the other stands in the snow, wind whipping at his loose clothing, a complicated twist in the fine lines of his face. “Is… Tommy okay?”

“Sad,” Styx tells the other with a ruffle of his own hair and he reaches a hand to tug his hood up over it to pin it down and away from his face.

“… Did Dream do something to him?” 

“Sad Tommy.” Styx shakes his head in frustration. _“Sadinnit.”_

“You sound like Chat.”

“Techiesoft?”

 _"Please_ don’t give them more ammunition, I’m already suffering enough.”

-

Styx shoves the stick into the ball of snow, stepping back and admiring it with a grin blossoming on his face and he spins excitedly to scramble over to Techno and tug at his cloak.

“What is it now-“ The exasperated voice cuts off, the pink haired man staring in bafflement and then furrowing confusion as he drops his hammer into the toolkit and rises up, brushing his hands off against his pants.

“Techie,” Styx grins as he tramples back to it and points excitedly. “Techie!”

“Where- what. _How!?”_

Styx frowns, pointing to his snow sculpture. “Techie.”

“I can _see_ you made me, kid, I’m not- _you haven’t seen me_ like that so _how_ -!?”

Styx falters, glancing at the snowy figure, tall and imposing, hooves on bent legs, snout and teeth imposing, a single stick shoved into the rounded hand.

It's clumsily shaped in places where he'd gotten too eager or couldn't figure out how.

“Techie?”

Red eyes gives him a look between tired exasperation and something far more complicated before it’s covered behind a hand that rubs over them, back turning towards him with a sweep of a red furred cloak.

“Let me work in peace, child."

Styx frowns, wrapping his arms around his chest.

 _… It’s a pretty accurate depiction,_ Dream muses, having remained silent at his side while he built, green eyes drifting between the kneeling figure of Techno repairing the fence and the slow shaping of the figure Styx had been painfully working on. _Most who see him like that don’t remain alive to tell tales about it. You’ve unnerved him._

Styx grimaces with a huff as he kicks a piece of snow aside before plopping down in the midst of it.

 _I agree, he was very rude. You worked hard on that,_ Dream says with a nod and there’s a feeling of weight settling on his shoulders, as if someone had decided to lean their arms there, head lowering in a conspiring whisper of-

_What do you feel about some good ‘ol fashioned revenge, Styx?_

-

Styx is covered from head to toe in snow, his clothes soaked all the way through, giggling as Techno dragged him backwards through the thick white fluff by the scruff of his neck.

“From henceforth we _don’t_ listen to the voices in our heads.”There’s a grin mirrored under a smiling mask, green eyes tracking red with fond nostalgia. “I don’t even know who to blame for this! Instead I’m stuck with _you._ ”

There’s snow clinging in cold clumps to his pink hair where Styx’s aim had gone true and wet spots where snow had collided to melt against his warm skin.

Styx rumbles out a laugh that wheezes out as there’s a tug and Techno abruptly releases him, leaving Styx to tip back in the fluff, craning his head to peer up at the other with a blink.

“If they have enough time on their hands to teach you how to be an absolute gremlin,” Techno says as he crouches down to peer down at him with unimpressed eyes. “Then you can get me a name.”

Styx opens his mouth and then closes it shut, warbling out a huff.

“… Can you write it out?”

Styx frowns, focusing on Dream who is still a steady presence at his side as Techno draws a knife from his boot and offers it handle first.

_If I show you something, Styx, can you copy me? It’ll be like a drawing, but in the snow._

Styx looks between the knife and the patch of snow beside him and then up at Techno who is _camaraderie forged in battles, trust implicit until it isn’t but still lingering, shoulders bumping with an exchange of looks before they look out upon the destruction of-_

 _“Copy me,”_ Dream encourages, his voice resonating with a twitch of Styx’s wrist, the edges of his vision blurring out-

He drops the knife with a warble, unamused as he rubs at his eyes with a frown.

“… That’s Dream’s chicken scratch of a writing.”

_Oh come on!_

“Chicken,” Styx agrees in spite as he presses a palm against his head and gives an aggressive shake.

 _I hate to be the one to inform you of this, but chicken is not a curse, Styx._ Dream’s voice is distractedly amused, his eyes still on Techno, expectant and waiting for something Styx doesn’t understand.

He furrows his brow- “Chickinnit?” he tries. 

_Closer,_ Dream agrees with a chuckle, low and close to his ear as Techno studies the letters in the snow with a flick of a pink ear.

“Styx, huh.” A thumb strokes down the side of a pink chin to press against the side of a frown, eyes burning into the child in the snow. “… What exactly are you trying to tell me here, Dream?”

Styx blinks at him.

Dream’s mouth stretches out behind a mask.

_What indeed._

-

_… What did I miss?_

_Nothing much,_ Dream hums innocently, cautiousness itching at the back of Styx’s mind as he bites down on a chunk of bread, ignoring the bowl of stew with the yellow chunks beside it. _We did have a bit of a situation where Styx decided to pelt a poor, unsuspecting Technoblade with snowballs though._

There’s a surprised snort, a bloody sleeve rubbing against blue eyes that darts to Dream with a flurry of knotted emotions and then away.

 _Sucks that I missed that._ Tommy’s hand drags through his hair. _Must have been quite the sight!_ False levity, emotions churning thick just beneath the surface.

Styx reaches out to give Dream a _nudge_ and there’s a flash of surprise, a sigh and a scruffy sneaker pressing down, moving closer to a sharp warning look from blue and something gruding and wanting and hesitating-

_Do you want a hug, Tommy?_

_Can we not do this right now, Dream._ Exhaustion drips in the younger's voice. _I’m not in the fucking mood for your games._

 _Tommy._ Dream hesitates but he takes another step closer to the other. _No games,_ he says. _You- I know you’re unhappy. About being stuck here with me. But-_ carefulcarefulcareful, something awkward and fumbling but also genuine and twisted at the same time as green hooded arms spreads out. _We’re stuck here together for now and that means. It means,_ Dream repeats with emphasis, _I have to be responsible, right? Because you’re the child._

Tommy stares at the older who twitches, shoulders drawing tight under scrutiny.

_… You’re joking._

_No joke._

_You’re really doing this. Now._

_I am doing this now._ A beat. _Better late than never, right? Maybe this is the beginning of my redemption arc,_ Dream’s voice lilts with a wry sort of twisted humour.

Tommy wavers but-

There’s a memory of feet slipping at the top of a tall tower, a lurch of panic and a hand wrapping tight around his wrist with a shout of his name, wide green eyes behind a mask and fingers tight enough to bruise as he swings in the air, the ground far, far away beneath them both-

It’s arms that wraps around his form with a breath of pure relief after he’s pulled up and into the other’s lap on the small platform, both of them trembling from the rush of adrenaline, the edge of a mask digging uncomfortably down against the top of his head as his fingers curls tight in lime green fabric with mute shock _because the only one who’d hugged him like this is Wilbur and-_

 _ ~~“I’ve got you.”~~_ The voice in his ears wavers with tension, his body pressed closer. _~~“No dying on my watch, okay?”~~_ ~~~~

It’s a memory of the same hand curling tight around his wrist with the burn of lava bubbling and enticing him.

_~~“It’s not your time to die yet, Tommy.”~~ _

_… This changes nothing,_ Tommy growls as he inches closer to the other with longing twisted side-ways, frail with distrust but want burning stronger because _despite everything he misses what they used to be, before the wars, before L’Manberg and Pogtopia, exile and the dark walls of the prison and he's tiredtiredtired of being alone-_

 _Nothing,_ Dream promises as the younger hesitates but-

There’s arms wrapping slow and with burning emotions, shoulders twitching, fingers finding and sinking into a thick hoodie as he buries his face down against a thin shoulder, arms slowly curling around the younger’s shoulders with something desperate and twisted but also old and _softsoftsoft because when was the last time someone willingly touched him he doesn't remember-_

Styx hums on the soft melody of a dead boy, ignoring the sharp eyes that darts towards him as he looks upon the moon bright outside the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trauma isn't easy to deal with when you're a dead sixteen-year-old child stuck in the head of a-kinda-child with the person who is directly responsible for a lot of said trauma.
> 
> I'm delighted you guys are enjoying this! I'm having some great fun. This is a heavier chapter but it will vary a bit depending on his much bleeds onto Styx from Dream and Tommy. It's not easy being back with people who you have complicated bonds with.
> 
> I have to dodge off on that, have some school work to deal with, but thank you all for sticking with me and all my love until the next chapter.


End file.
